


All the lies

by silver_sun



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Arizaphale pov, Bookshop, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel is emotionally abusive, Gabriel's idea of the truth and the actual truth are not the same, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Lack of Communication, M/M, Manipulative Gabriel, Post Series, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Scared Aziraphale, dreadful plans, holding hard enough to bruise, mild violence, sleeping in a bed together, they seriously need to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_sun/pseuds/silver_sun
Summary: It's a few months after the Apocalyse that wasn't and Aziraphale had assumed that they were going to be left alone.He was wrong.Gabriel showing up at his shop was unexpected, and if he was honest, unwelcome. The message that Gabriel brought was worse than he could have ever expected.Yet not everything is as it seems.Written for the prompt desecration on Hurt/Comfort Bingo on Dreamwidth.





	1. Chapter 1

The presence in his shop was as unmistakeable as it was totally unexpected. It had been months since they'd helped to avert the apocalypse and had pulled the switch and fooled their respective sides. Time in which they had been left alone to finally being to explore the parts of their relationship that they'd previously felt unable to act upon for fear what would happen. 

It was dreadful to have a rush of fear because of an angelic presence, Aziraphale though, but he couldn't fight knot of panic that had settled in chest. "If they were going to do anything to you they would have done it by now," he admonished himself. He'd be polite, but firm and then with any luck they would go away and leave him in peace. He just needed to stand up to him. It was one angel, he'd tricked the whole of Hell, Michael too. He could do this, he told himself, he really, really could.

Placing his afternoon tea and cake down back down on the table he went to greet his less than welcome guest. "Gabriel, to what do I owe this visit?"

Dropping the book that he'd been holding carelessly back on to the table, Gabriel turned to him with a smile. "You are still an Angel, for now at least. So I've come with important news. News that concerns you."

"Oh." The small knot of fear in his chest seemed to rise up, threatening to choke him. This wasn't good at all. "Oh, oh right. Yes, of course I am. So um could you just tell me what you need to and..." Aziraphale stopped, eyes going wide in panic. "What...what do you mean for now?"

"I mean your behaviour hasn't gone unnoticed." Gabriel gestured dismissively at him, before closing the distance between them. "This continued sullying of your corporation. It's unbecoming of an angel at best, at worse it's an act of wilful desecration." 

Instinctively, Aziraphale retreated, stopping only once the back of his legs collided with a table covered in books. He wanted to answer back, but the words caught in this throat. He'd been so sure he'd be ready for any conversation that Heaven might want to have with him, but here and now it had happened he was afraid. 

Placing his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, he continued. "The sorry fact is that if you continue to live as you are you will Fall. You might have resisted death before, but that would have been a kindness compared to what it will happen to you. The punishments Hell will have for you." Gabriel closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. "The Angel who prevented Armageddon, the Angel who can't die in Hell Fire. What they'll do to you, it doesn't bear thinking about, does it? They'll never see you as one of them either, so the torment will never, ever end." 

Aziraphale shuddered as much from Gabriel's touch as his words. Words that played too much into fears that he barely dared to acknowledge. Fears that he'd not dared to share with Crowley, as if somehow by giving voice to them it made them more likely to happen.

"You should tremble." Gabriel dug his fingers in tighter, holding him in place. "You should be afraid. You should be begging for forgiveness. Your actions are sins against God herself. You eat and drink when there is no need. Gluttony. These books you so carefully have hoarded. Pride and Greed."

Every part of him said run, hide, don't listen, but he couldn't move. Pinned with panic, all Arizaphale could do was was take shaky little breathes as he tried desperately to think of something to counter the Archangel's words. Nothing would come, but visions of pain and fire and blood.

"You sit around indulging yourself when you should be fighting the wiles of demons. Sloth. You look at humans, look at their lives, short and filled with base desires, and wish it for yourself. Envy." He dug his fingers in tighter until Aziraphale flinched. "You get angry, you argue, you disobey. You fight those who would help you and you feel justified in doing it. That's Wrath. So many sins, how you haven't Fallen already I really don't know." 

"Stop." Aziraphale knew it sounded pathetic, but it hurt, words and bruising grip alike. He tried to pull away. "Please stop."

"No, you have to hear this. Don't think we don't know all your vices." Gabriel increased the pressure, until it elicited a choked off gasp of pain. "Oh we know of your base desires. How you abuse your lustful flesh in secret, that you think of that Hell spawned serpent as you do so. That you would corrupt and desecrate this God given corporation by acting upon those carnal desires with It."

Blushing red, his voice shaking with too many emotions to keep under control, Aziraphale stuttered out, "I really don't know what you're taking about." 

"Lying too." Gabriel made a tutting noise, "There really is no hope for you, is there?" He released his grip. "All those doubts and fears you have. You have them because you know what you're doing is wrong." He placed a gentle touch against Aziraphale face. "A good Angel knows nothing of doubt, because they have done nothing wrong. A good Angel knows nothing of fear because they are on the side of God. Don't you want to have that? To know that certainty again?"

Az shuddered at the touch, his shoulders feeling bruised to the bone. "Yes, but..."

Gabriel pressed a finger against Aziraphale's lips, cutting off his protest. "No. No talking. This is for your own good. For the good of Heaven. Your behaviour, your base desires and sins, Gluttony, Greed, Pride, Envy, Sloth, Wrath and Lust. They are destroying you." His eyes seemed to glow with a deep, amethyst fire. "Worse there are those in Heaven who look upon you, upon your abject failings and wonder how you have not fallen. They start to wonder what they could get away with. You tempt them with your casual disregard for sin." 

"But-" he tried again, wanting to ask how he was able to both disgust them and tempt them at the same time.

"You will be silent!" 

Aziraphale flinched, the volume, the sheer power of an Archangel's fury at him make him want to cower on the floor and beg for forgiveness. The was nowhere to retreat to and the table rocked behind him, books toppling over and falling to the floor. 

"You know I haven't come here out of familial love for you," Gabriel said with a cloying sweetness. "I have come to the conclusion that you are long past saving, that you deserve to be cast out, that you deserve all that Hell will do to you. But I cannot allow your sins to threaten the stability of Heaven. Your continued existence threatens a second schism, another war. More Angels lost to Hell, cut off forever from her Love and Grace." He placed a hand against Aziraphale's cheek again. "I'm sure you remember how we had to take up arms against the Fallen, how we had to cast them out. How our brothers and sisters perished, bleeding and burning for their unending faith in God as they cast out the traitors. Will you really dishonour their sacrifices like this?" 

Aziraphale knew he was shaking, eyes wide, tears running down his cheeks. Of course he remembered, no one who was there could ever forget. It had been devastating for them all, Heaven had changed, they had changed. Every time he thought of it, of everything that had been lost, it made him want to weep. 

"So even if you no longer have to decency to respect the sanctity of your once holy corporation, then have pity on those Angels you are corrupting." Gabriel lent in close to his ear. "Their screams as they Fall, their wings and souls burnt to cinders by Hell Fire. That will be on you for all time."

Gabriel stepped back and gave him an incongruously cheerful smile. "So no more of this self desecration." He pats Aziraphale's aching shoulders with a little more force than is necessary, a smug grin that is definitely less than angelic on his face a he sees the other Angel wince. "No more Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Envy or Pride. And definite no Lust, it's just tacky." He glances at his watch. "Right, well I'd better be back off upstairs let them know the message has been delivered." 

"Gabriel.."

"Don't beg, it's undignified. Just do as you're told and I won't have to come back and remind you." Gabriel took one step back towards him. "Or perhaps you would like Michael or Sandalphon to assist me in delivering the message in a more memorable form."

Gripped with outright terror, Aziraphale shook his head. Neither would show him an ounce of pity. Then again if what he'd been told was true he didn't deserve any.

Gabriel looked smugly at his fearful face. "I would say I believe you, but once a liar... So let's just say next time then."

As soon as Gabriel was gone Aziraphale's legs, already weak with fear, gave out from under him. Sitting on the floor of his shop, his back against the table, books still scattered on the floor around him, he began to shake. Wrapping his arms tightly about himself, he wept, knowing that whatever choice he made it would destroy him and all he held dear. 

TBC

(Written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, this is the part with the hurt, the next will have the comfort, promise :)


	2. Chapter 2

Darkness fell, or at least as much as it ever did in central London, leaving the interior of the bookshop lit only by the dim orange glow of the street lights outside. 

On the floor, books still scattered around him, Aziraphale remained where Gabriel had left him. The physical tears had long since ceased, as had the shaking. Whether the detached, numb feeling that his corporation was experiencing was a good thing he had no way of telling, as his mind was still crying out in anger and grief, a howling storm of emotions that he couldn't quite manage to bring under control. 

Images of the war in Heaven, the Great Rebellion, filled his head. The call to arms, trumpets, battle songs, uniforms, orders, fighting. The cries and screams. The smell of angelic blood falling for the first time, the stench of sulphur and the heat of Hell Fire. And death. The absolute, unimaginable horror of the very first death and of trying to process the concept of it, the idea that you could just cease to be. There had been no death before. There had been no need for it, no way of accomplishing it. 

What horrors would a second rebellion unleash? What deaths would be his fault? Earth would become as much a battle ground as Heaven and Hell, there was no way to avoid it, neither side would care how many humans were lost along the way. 

And for what? Because he liked his books, his food, his Crowley too much. Yet what were his decidedly earthly pleasures compared the lives of all those on Earth? Nothing. To pretend otherwise would be selfish. He was a poor excuse for an angel and he knew it. 

Caught in the vicious tide of memories and fears for the future, Aziraphale barely noticed the door opening. The chime of the little brass bell loud in the quiet of the shop. 

"Come on, Angel. I know you're in here. We're going to be late."

Crowley. Aziraphale could see him dimly silhouetted against the open door, light from outside seeping in around him. He had to send him away. What if Gabriel returned with Sandalphon or Michael? They wouldn't hesitate to try to smite Crowley. He had no hope of being able to stop them. No, there was really only one thing for it. Taking a shaky breath, he called out, "Go away. I don't want you here." 

There was a moments silence, then Crowley clicked his fingers and antique desk lamps flickered on, bathing the shop in a warm glow. "You don't mean that. You-" Crowley stopped and looked at him. "What's happened?" 

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just realised that you shouldn't be here. That you really need to go right now. Please." Aziraphale tried to will his breathing to even out, but it didn't seem to help. "You've been such a bad influence on me, absolutely terrible really and I can't..."

The words died on his lips as he saw the look on Crowley's face. Anger, hurt and something that looked an awful lot like fear. In two steps he's standing over him and Aziraphale can't stop himself from flinching away. Neither can he stop the apology for doing so falling from his lips a moment later. 

Crowley doesn't speak, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line, like he doesn't trust what might escape them if he did not. He swallowed, neck bobbing and then, still wordlessly, he held out a hand. 

He knew he shouldn't take it, he should send Crowley away for his own safety. Yet he does. He lets himself be pulled to his feet, for his hand to be held just that bit longer than was really needed. Allow himself to feel weak with relief that just for moment they can touch. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Crowley lets go of his hand. "So are you going to tell me what's happened?"

"It's nothing." He was cold. He wasn't sure why he was so cold or why it should bother him. It really didn't matter he decided, soon enough nothing would matter at all, because he'd have nothing left. 

"Really? Because you sitting on the floor in the dark is totally normal." 

"I'm not."

"You were."

"Well now I'm not," Aziraphale said defensively, "So just you stop it." 

Crowley made a noise that was somehow both annoyed and concerned and then helped himself to a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

"So what happened? Did you have to sell a book or something? Get into an argument about the Dewey-Decimal system again?" 

Aziraphale knew the teasing was meant to put him at ease, to help him open up, and normally it would. Now all it did was remind him of the friendship, companionship, love even, that he was going to lose. Wine wasn't strong enough for this conversation, and really what did it matter anymore if he did a selfish little miracle, he thought with an uncharacteristic bitterness. The wine in his glass changed to a nicely aged single malt whisky. 

Crowley quirked an eyebrow as he sensed what the angel had done. "That bad, huh?" 

Taking a haste swallow of his drink, Aziraphale nodded miserably. "Gabriel decided to visit." 

The demon made a disgusted face. "I take it that it wasn't to ask how you're doing since the whole world not ending thing?"

"No." He managed a wan little smile, "I think we both know that's not really his style." 

Taking up what had in recent weeks become his usual position on the couch, Crowley gestured towards the ceiling with his class. "Gabriel is so far up his own arse that I'm surprised he doesn't choke on his halo." 

A small laugh bubbled up despite the misery that threaten to drag him back down. "You have such a wicked tongue."

Dipping his head so he was looking over his glasses, Crowley flicked out his tongue at him, temporarily forked and snakelike. 

"Enough of that, you silly serpent," Aziraphale replied fondly. Turning away, he retreated to his chair opposite the couch. How was he going to get through the evening? He'd tried and failed to send Crowley away, and he knew that he couldn't do it again, couldn't even attempt it, he'd never get the words out. Yet he could hardly tell him the truth. Nor could he do nothing and be the cause of another war in Heaven. 

It would have all been so much simpler if Crowley hadn't fallen or if I had, he thought miserably. 

Fall. Maybe that was it. Maybe he could Fall. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he had always feared. Perhaps he could just saunter vaguely downwards as Crowley had put it. It would certainly be enough to put any angel off from copying him. He wouldn't be a bad influence on Heaven any more, so no second rebellion, no war spilling over onto Earth, no deaths that were his fault. 

He could keep his life, keep people safe, keep Crowley safe. It was the best solution for them all, he told himself, as he tried to ignore the fact that this hands had begun to shake. 

It would have to be quick. He had to do it before he caused anymore problems in Heaven, and definitely before Gabriel came back. How did you make yourself Fall? He could hardly ask Crowley as he knew he'd tried to talk him out of it. 

Crowley. Aziraphale looked at him. The languid sprawl of limbs on his couch, wine glass held loosely in his long figures, red hair almost glowing under the lamplight. He couldn't lose him, couldn't lose these moments or the promise of much more. 

He licked dry, nervous lips. That was it. That was the way he could Fall. He could let Crowley take him. Let him, as Gabriel had said, desecrate him. That would surely be enough and wasn’t like it something he hadn’t wanted and fantasised over. He knew Crowley wanted it too, that he had done from probably even long than he had. It was just giving in to the inevitable. 

Would it really be enough to make him Fall? Aziraphale wondered. Just having sex really didn't seem like it would be enough. Or was it because it would be the culmination of everything else that he'd done that angels were definitely not supposed to do. He wished he had someone to ask, but there was no one Crowley, and he could hardly ask him. It would break his heart to know that he'd made him Fall. As for all Crowley had always denied feeling things like love or being nice, Aziraphale knew with absolute certainty that it was patently untrue. 

Aziraphale took a swallow of whisky, feeling sick at his own plan of using Crowley. He could never, ever let him know the truth. He would tell him that he'd been questioning the plan, the ineffable plan itself and God ever since what had happened at the Airfield. That he'd lost his faith in it all. It was a believable lie. One scarily close to the truth. 

Having successfully frightened himself even more than before, he finished the glass, poured another and gulped half of it down in one go. It did nothing to settle his nerves or give him any idea on how to put his plan into action. He just didn't feel in any way amorous, in fact he didn't feel like having sex at all. He couldn't let that get in the way of the plan, he told himself. There wasn't time for hesitation, he had to do something fast, tonight if he could. Maybe if he had a few more drinks, a bottle or so, then he'd be in the mood. Yes, that was it. He could do this. He really, definitely could. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

Crowley watched him over the top of his dark glasses. "You know you could just tell me what's happened without getting plastered. Not that you aren't a fun drunk, but it would be quicker."

"I did tell you, Gabriel paid me a visit. It put me a little out of sorts. That's all."

"Really." 

"Alright, a lot out of sorts." Aziraphale got up and moved over to Crowley. He had to do this now, he had to stop more questions being asked, and he very definitely had to stop over thinking things. No, he had to get it over and done with so they could all be safe. Sitting down in the space between where Crowley had one leg propped up on the table and the over carelessly draped over the arm of the couch, he added, "Gabriel said a lot of hurtful things about you, about us."

Crowley swallowed hard as the angel all but sat on his lap, voice less than steady as he tried a careless, "So what's new?" 

"It um made me realise something, I've kept you waiting for far too long," Aziraphale said, hoping that it sounded vaguely believable. "There's no reason for us not to err..." He could feel himself blush, the heat crawling up his cheeks. "Not to be together, to do...to do what lovers do."

"Oh." Crowley's eyes widened and to Aziraphale's surprise he went red, right to the tips of his ears. "You want to err...to do it, to...um...kiss?"

"Kissing, yes of course. Kissing and more. Lots more." He needed to be brave, daring, quick, Aziraphale reminded himself. Their lives depended on it, as well as Heaven and Earth. Leaning in he kissed Crowley full on the mouth. 

His lips were warm and dry, soft and ever so slightly parted. It felt more like coming home than any visit to Heaven ever had. Which was, he thought wildly, almost certainly a blasphemous thing to say. Although considering what his aim was that was probably a good thing, so he resolved to attempt to have more thoughts like that, as it might speed the process along a little bit. 

Crowley kissed him back without hesitation. Tentatively at first, like he could't quite believe that he was being given permission to do it. 

It was nice. Very, very nice, Aziraphale decided, as after a few moments he let Crowley take over control of the kiss. He felt all gooey. Which probably wasn't the best description and certainly wasn't a particularly sexy one, but he felt warm and soft, all sort of melty. Rather like the inside of a very good chocolate fondant cake fresh from the oven. It was good, good enough to forget, for a moment at least, everything else. 

Growing bolder, Crowley's tongue swiped across his lips, wet and warm and promising things that would leave them breathless. Taking off his glasses with one hand, Crowley put a steadying hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, as he tried to unhook the leg that was over the arm of the couch and curl it round the back of the angel's legs instead. 

Which would have been find, except for the fact that the bruises on his shoulders decided to make themselves felt and Aziraphale tensed, unable to stop the little huff of pain that escaped him. 

Crowley stopped, pulling back from the kiss, a questioning, uncertain look in his eyes. 

Not daring to meet them, Aziraphale looked down at his chest and replied, "It's nothing." 

"That was not nothing, that was pain. You're not supposed to be in pain. This is supposed to be fun." A look out right anger flashed across his eyes. "It was Gabriel, wasn't it? He hurt you. That's what happened."

Aziraphale nodded, then not wanting to worry Crowley, but also not wanting him to stop, said, "It's just a silly little bruise. It's nothing really, it caught me by surprise, that's all. It's fine. I'm fine. Absolutely totally fine. Now where were we?"

"It's not fine." The anger in his eyes bubbled over into his voice. "It's not fine at all. I should have roasted that smug grin of his stupid face, I should have...."

"Please don't." Aziraphale felt like weeping, helpless frustration threatening to overwhelm him once more. "He'd destroy you, I can't..." 

"Hey, no. Shh, stop. No, no, no. Don't cry." Crowley sounded panicked, utterly out of his depth. "Look how about I sort the bruise out, then we'll have another drink. Lots of drinks, your choice. I can get you some cake or something. It's okay, we've got all the time in the world, remember. You and me, together."

They didn't have time, not yet at least, once he'd fallen they would. They'd be free. Aziraphale forced a smile and leant back in to kiss him. "I'm alright, really I am. Let's just do it, get it all over and done with." 

Crowley sighed and shook his head, sorrowful yellow eyes meeting troubled blue. "No, you're not. I might be a demon, but I'm not going to have my wicked way with you while you're like this. Seriously, it'd be no fun for anyone." Cupping a hand against Aziraphale's cheek, thumb brushing against his lips. "I'm not a monster." 

Any idea of being able to maintain composure was gone, and Aziraphale hunched in on himself. He'd ruined everything. Would continue to ruin everything for everyone. Closing his eyes, a sob shook him, raw and wretched, misery swallowing him whole. 

After a brief moment of panicked indecision, Crowley slowly and carefully, wrapped his arms around him, rocking him gently and holding him close while he wept. 

TBC.

Final part to be posted around the end of the week.


	3. Chapter 3

Crying hadn't particularly helped. Mainly, Aziraphale decided with a weariness that was more than physical, because it hadn't actually made anything any better. Even Crowley's arms holding him tight, were there own special kind of torture, a painful reminder of all he was going to lose. 

Yet he hadn't got the energy to move from them or the desire to try. Instead he closed his eyes, head tucked between Crowley's neck and shoulder. Exhausted and sore, he wondered how long he could stay there, huddled away from reality. However long it was, he doubted that it would ever be long enough.

"You asleep?" 

"No." It came out as a wet little croak that Aziraphale absolutely hated. His throat hurt, his nose was all blocked and snuffly and he suspected his eyes were every bit as red and puffy as they felt. It was hardly an angelic look, being all soggy and sad, but being concerned with how you looked was vanity, and that wasn't very angelic either. He sniffed loudly, knowing how disparaging Gabriel would be if he could see him right now. 

"You want to try?"

He thought for a moment, wondering he might escape to some dreamless oblivion for a while. Yet he held no hope of it. Sleep had never come easily to him. All the things he managed to keep at bay while awake had a tendency to come out to play in a warped technicolor parody of life if he tried. "I can't," he said hoarsely, the words muffled against the tear-damp fabric of Crowley's shirt. "I'm sorry." 

He felt Crowley tense at the words, his arms like tightly strung wires around him. 

Turning his cheek to rest it on top of the untidy white curls, Crowley made an inarticulate gulping noise, sounding somewhat less than half in control of his own emotions. "Will you stop apologising? You've done nothing wrong." 

"Sorry...I mean I'm not sorry, that I'm sorry. Sorry." Aziraphale sniffed again. "Oh bother. I'm so awful at this. I really have no idea why you even like me." 

Crowley went very still for a moment, then he said quietly, "I more than like you." Releasing his embrace, he carefully ran his fingers through Aziraphale's hair, lifting his head, so their eyes met. "Angel, you're everything them up there should have been, but aren't. You're good. You're kind. Even when you try to be an irritating bastard you're never cruel. You want to help people. You like doing it. I thought it was because you were an angel, but it's not." Leaning in, he let their lips brush. "You're all those things and more, because it's just who you are." 

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. "Crowley." It was a sigh, a prayer. 

"You're my best friend, my only friend." Crowley's eyes were wet. "You make me FEEL. Demons shouldn't...can't do that. But you..You...right from that first time on the wall when you looked at me, you listened, you cared." He swallowed hard. "You didn't have to. You didn't have to do any of the things you done for me, but you did and I love you for it." Lips just touching, he whispered, fear and awe in his voice, "I...I love you," before kissing him with all the passion he struggled to put into mere words. 

It was probably a very good thing that they were sitting down, Aziraphale thought giddily, as he felt weak at the knees and little faint from the rush of emotions. It definitely wasn't a bad feeling, just completely and utterly overwhelming.

He felt breathless as Crowley slowly pulled back, foreheads touching, a hand still curled around the back of his neck. He should probably say something. He tell him that he loved him dearly too, that he'd fell in love with him years ago, but that he'd been too afraid to admit it, to scared of what would happen to them should there sides ever find out. They've wasted so much time. Not wasted, he corrected himself, no time he'd spent with Crowley was ever wasted. They'd all been moments to cherish in their own way. What was wasted was all the times that they could have spent together but hadn't.

"We should go," Crowley said suddenly, although he made no move to leave. 

"Go? Go where?" 

"To my place. Whatever happened earlier, whatever Gabriel said, we'll figure something out, but not here." He looked around the shop, eyes darting from unlit candles to empty fireplace, fire that wasn't there somehow reflected in his eyes. "Somewhere safe."

"My shop is safe," Aziraphale said defensively. It was his, it had been his home for the best part of two centuries. It was comfortable. 

Crowley sighed. "I don't suppose you can humour me on this, you know, just this once." A please that would never be spoke aloud clung to the end of sentence. 

"I suppose a change of scene might help me think," Aziraphale said doubtfully. Although not worrying that Gabriel would walk back in any second would be good. Did Gabriel know where Crowley lived? Would he dare to walk into a demon's home? He hoped not. 

\------------------------------

The drive to Crowley's flat was uneventful, the sleeping city sliding past the windows of the Bentley as it ignored all speed limits and traffic signs. 

Was it the quiet before the storm? Aziraphale wondered once he was sitting on the blandly modern sofa. Or was it a brief pause, a genuine moment of respite from everything. Crowley, certainly appeared to be treating it as such. A few glares at his plants, a click of his fingers to set the lighting to something far more soft and soothing that the overhead strip lighting should have ever been able to manage, followed by brief detour to the kitchen to miracle them up a drink. 

Aziraphale preferred, if he was honest, when warm drinks where made the human way. They seemed to taste more real somehow. It was a silly sentiment, but he'd never quite been able to shake it. 

"You don't have to tell me everything that Gabriel said, but if he's going to come for you, for us. I want to know." Leaving his coffee on his desk, Crowley sat down next to him. "We're our own side, remember. You and me. So if we're going to have to fight you tell me." He gave him a smile that was somewhere between encouraging and panicked. "I can't think of a plan otherwise."

"No, no fighting." Aziraphale felt cold, chilled to the bone. The warm mug in his hands did nothing to relieve it. "Well not unless I don't stop."

The smile vanished. "Stop? Stop what?"

"Everything." He put the mug down untouched, the sick twist of nerves making him feel queasy. "You see, the thing is, and I didn't realise it, but I've been tempting the other Angels with how I live, putting them in them peril. So...um...I...oh dear...I have to give up all this." He gestured helplessly, overcome with the hopelessness of it all. "All of everything really. Even you. I have to be a good Angel from now on. Well that or I need to Fall, then they'll be too afraid to copy me."

Crowley was silent, tense, despite the naked fears and emotions that played out in his eyes and face. Finally he asked, "So did he give you any proof?"

"Proof?" Aziraphale wondered if he'd heard right. "Proof of what?"

"Of what he'd said, of any of it."

"It's the word of an Archangel," Aziraphale, unable to stop the feeling of disloyalty to Heaven at the thought of questioning the word of such an exulted being's words. "He wouldn't..."

"Lie to you?" Crowley's eyes seemed to glow with barely suppressed anger. "Wouldn't twist the truth? Wouldn't outright lie to you if he knew it would hurt you? Oh he would. You know he would. Angel, he wanted you dead. He wanted to watch you die."

"But..." 

"But what?" 

"I can't take the risk," Aziraphale replied, breath catching in his throat. "I can't...oh Crowley, I can't. What if they Fall because of me? They aren't all like Gabriel, if they were they wouldn't be tempted. What if I cause another rebellion, another war. I can't... I can't..." Images of the war in heaven started to fill his senses once more. Fire. Blood. Weeping. Dying. "I can't lose you." He felt like he was choking, but he pressed on. "I can't...I can't let them Fall either. So I have to Fall. I have to. It's the only-"

"Stop." Crowley's voice was raw, his pain a living thing, etched in his eyes and face. "Don't say that, don't."

"Gabriel said it would be easy," Aziraphale continued. He had to say it, to tell the truth, before he lost his nerve, lied and made an ever bigger mess of things. "That all I needed to do was be with you, to give in to my carnal thoughts, desires. To...to let you desecrate me."

"To what?" He looked baffled for a moment before answering his own question. "You mean have sex, don't you?" 

Aziraphale flushed. "You don't have to be crude about it."

"Hardly crude, Angel. Look the point is no one ever Fell because they made love. No one. Never. You-" Crowley stopped. Getting up from the sofa he turned away, a hand over his eyes. "Don't tell me that's why you kissed me." 

"It wasn't, of course it wasn't." It wasn't even slightly convincing. 

Crowley's shoulders slumped, he stumbled a few steps towards the wall, leaning weakly against it. "You bastard. You really thought you'd Fall if you had sex with me and you were going to do it anyway. You were going to use me. You absolute utter, utter bastard." 

Aziraphale felt sick. What he'd been going to do was so, so very wrong. It was disgusting. Despicable. Crowley shouldn't forgive him, not ever. He'd ruined everything they could have had. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'll go. I'll find another way."

"No!" Crowley turned back to him, bewildered, hurt, terrified. "Don't you dare." He took half a step towards towards him."Angel, Aziraphale. Please."

Anger, Aziraphale thought, he could have understood, could have deal with. He'd have been still be able to walk away from that. But not this, not Crowley looking at him wide-eyed with fear, not the way he was trembling and definitely not the silent trickle of tears sliding down his cheeks. 

He'd tried to use him, he'd betrayed his trust, he'd truly upset him. He'd been a fool. Worse, he been a terrible friend. Honestly it was quiet possibly the worse thing he'd ever chosen to do. Admittedly there had been things Heaven had demanded of him, terrible, awful, soul destroying things which had been much, much worse. But those that been orders, things that he'd been forced to obey. This he'd chosen to do all by himself. 

Disgusted with himself and unable to cope with the sight of Crowley's tears for a moment longer, Aziraphale did the only thing he could think of. He hugged him. 

Crowley responded with a surprised gasp, then wrapped his arms tightly about the angel. Turning his face away, he pressed it against the offered, comforting shoulder. He made a wet, breathy sound, followed by a huff of annoyance. "I'm still angry with you."

"I know, my dear, and it's quite alright." Cautiously, Aziraphale rubbed Crowley's back, hoping that it might offer a little comfort. "I tried to do a terrible thing and I'm so sorry. I was scared, but that's really no excuse, is it? I doubt that it helps at all, but I am very, very cross at myself. I really should have just told you."

Talking or rather the lack of it was, Aziraphale realised, at the heart of their problems. They hadn't really talked about apocalypse that wasn't, the giddy relief of survival seeming, until now at least, to be enough to see them through. They'd carefully not talked about what had happened to them in the desperate hours before it was averted, barely said a word about the things that happened Heaven and Hell, nor voiced a single word about the fear of losing everything, of losing each other. The fear, the insecurities and nagging feeling that they were living on borrowed time hadn't diminished no matter how far he'd pushed it down inside. It was awful to realise that Crowley had almost certainly been suffering just the same.

The fact was they needed to talk. A proper long, open and honestly conversation. It would probably be an awful and miserable experience, but somewhere deep inside he knew that they needed to do it. To leave it would be to let it fester, poisoning their future together.

"Just promise me you won't try," Crowley ground out, hands gripping tightly into his coat, fingers twisting into the worn fabric. "Promise me you won't Fall."

"I promise." He patted Crowley's back, ignoring the ache in his own shoulders. It didn't matter that his coat pulled tight across bruises or that they still throbbed unmercifully, he hold himself, for now all that mattered was Crowley. "I should have told you, been honest. I should have trusted you. You deserve so much better from me. I'm sorry, my dear, I'm so, so sorry."

"'s okay," Crowley said, voice rough, as he clung to him. "I forgive you."

It was forgiveness that Aziraphale was sure that he didn't deserve, but he took it all the same. Pressing a kiss in the soft, red hair, an awed, "thank you," on his lips, he resolved to be worthy of it. He owed Crowley that and so much more, even if it took him the rest of time to do it. 

TBC

This part totally got away from me, hence the delay, I had been meaning to post this yesterday. Technically this is only half of what the original part 3 was before I decided to do what I thought would be a quick edit to resolve a couple of things. 

So as not to delay posting any further I've split the part in half, which is why the chapter count has increased to 4. It should all be resolved in part 4 which will hopefully be ready for posting about mid-week.


	4. Chapter 4

Exhausted didn't seem a strong enough word, Aziraphale thought as he held Crowley close. Weary beyond caring just about covered it. Except that he did care. If he hadn't he'd have released Crowley some time ago, he'd have saved his own aching shoulders and trembling legs, and collapsed to the floor.

The current problem, well at least current minor problem that he potentially had some control over was that they couldn't stay there forever. Or to be honest much longer at all, he decided as his knee gave a warning twinge of cramp. Falling over and knocking Crowley down with him was hardly a good way to show affection. Patting Crowley's back awkwardly, he said, "Are you still awake?" 

Crowley raised his head enough to look at him, eyes half closed. . "Um...maybe."

"Would it be alright if we went to bed now, my dear?"

Crowley let this head fall back against Aziraphale's shoulder. "'s not a good idea. Not tonight."

"No? Oh suppose we might have bad dreams. I mean...oh no. Did you think I meant....Oh dear, no really I didn't mean that, not after...." He knew he was getting flustered and babbling, but the words would've seem to stop. "What meant was...well...umm...you did say I should sleep and you're nearly asleep. So we could sleep. Not anything else, no other meanings, I really mean just sleep. If we can. Only I'm not sure how much longer I can stand here before I fall ov- no, not fall. Not Fall Fall, not that sort thing, I mean trip or..um...just you know just...err... sort of flump."

Crowley gave a strange little shudder which for a moment worried Aziraphale that he'd made things worse. At least until he realised that the demon was trying his best not to laugh. 

"Flump? Really?" 

Feeling weak with relief, he said, with a joviality that was, to his surprise, almost entirely genuine, "Well I like the word. It's very descriptive. Like wiggle or squish." 

There was another muffled laugh and then Crowley straightened up, although he still kept a protective arm around him. "Alright, bed it is."

It was just as well it was only a few steps away to the bedroom, Aziraphale thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed, as he doubted he'd have made it much further. 

The bed was oversized, ridiculously soft and covered by a thick duvet, patterned to look like the night sky. It was, he thought, such Crowley thing to have. It was somewhere he could lounge about, sprawl all those long limbs wherever he wanted in complete comfort. It made him wish that they'd made use of the the night they'd come back from Tadfield instead of drinking themselves half into a stupor on the sofa. Admittedly the drinking had helped them to understand what Anges Nutter last prophesy has meant and reckless enough for them to try it. If only the there had been a few more of them then maybe they'd have a clue what to do now. 

"...shoes." 

Not wanting to admit that he hadn't been listening, Aziraphale looked down at his shoes and blinked owlishly. They were definitely still there and there didn't appear to be anything wrong with them. He felt thick headed with tiredness, not quite able to work out what he was supposed to do next. Was he even supposed to do anything?

When he hadn't made a move to do or say anything, Crowley said, "Well take them off then. You're not getting in bed with on."

"Oh, yes, right of course, silly me." Carefully he toed them off, relieved that he'd not worn anything with laces. 

He should probably take his coat off, the bow tie as well, he thought reluctantly. They'd get dreadfully creased if he slept in them, but taking them off, give how sore and cramped his shoulders were, would hurt. That said he could hardly refuse to do it without Crowley getting suspicious and worrying. He sighed. He was being pathetic. It was a few bruises. It wasn't a serious injury. He'd been a soldier of Heaven once, he'd fought... He clamped down tight on the memory. The point was, he told himself firmly, that he'd known real pain and this was not it. This wasn't even close. He'd let himself get soft and weak. Gabriel had been right about that at least.

He took a shallow breath, readying himself. He could ignore it. He would ignore it. The bruises throbbed in protest as he tried to slip the coat free. It was nothing. He could do it. He wasn't going to be beaten by something so stupid. A sudden sharper flare made him gasp, but he pushed it aside. He nearly had it. All he had to do was- The muscles in his shoulder spasmed, pain lancing down his arm and he couldn't quite manage to choke back cry. 

Closing his eyes, he gripped his arm, hoping that he hadn't been heard. Sucking in a shaky breath, he waited for it to pass. 

Any hope that Crowley somehow hadn't noticed disappeared the moment the mattress dipped beside him. "What is it? What wrong?"

The pain had already ebbed back to a dull throb, but he didn't open he eyes. "Stupid bruises." 

"They're still there? Why are they still there? Why haven't you miracled them away?" Crowley moved closer, his hand coming to rest of Aziraphale's thigh. "And don't you dare think about telling me some utter crap about deserving it." 

"It's not that," he replied, feeling suddenly very ashamed. "I just can't." 

There was a worried silence then Crowley asked, "What do you mean? You can't do miracles or that a miracle won't work?"

"Um neither? I mean I've not tried, not for this sort of thing. I can't, it's not allowed."

"Not..." Crowley sounded appalled. "Who said that? Why?"

"Well everyone. Punishment from an Archangel, it's..." He stopped, hating the shivery, tearful feeling that threaten to overwhelm him. It was awful, utterly humiliating. He didn't feel like himself at all, but he had no idea what he could do to stop it. Annoyed more at himself than at Crowley for asking, he said defensively, "The point is we're supposed to bear things these things with humility, with the grace and forbearance befitting an angel. I can't imagine it's any better down there."

Crowley took Aziraphale's hands in his. "We're not talking about there, and for the record, no. If we're hurt we fix it as quickly as we can." He give his hand a squeeze. "You don't want to show any weakness." 

It made sense, but it didn't help. He was beyond help. "I just can't do it. You wouldn't understand, you're a demon, so of course you can't understand. It's about propriety and..." It sounded fake even to his own ears. He sighed. "But I suppose the main thing is Gabriel would know."

"Going to pretend I didn't hear that first bit," Crowley said with ill concealed hurt. "But really he'd know? How would he know?"

"How?" Aziraphale echoed faintly, wondering now how Gabriel would know and why he'd never questioned it before. "I don't know, but he's an Archangel. He's always said..." He stopped the words dying in his throat as he could feel the anger pouring off Crowley, as heat and sulphur tinged the air. Fear too innate to ignore made him tremble. "I'm sorry. Please-"

Crowley's anger died instantly. "No, no. Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to hurt you." Taking Aziraphale's hand he held it against his chest, over his heart. "I'm not angry with you. Gabriel, Heaven, the whole miserable lot of them I could burn to the ground and not care."

"Crowley! You can't say things like that."

"I can say what I like. I can be angry at what they've done to you. What they did to..." He stopped and sighed. "How about I do it? Bet they didn't make any stupid rules about that. You know a little demonic miracle of my own, you know I can." He gave an encouraging smile. "No more bruises, you get a good sleep and we'll think of something in the morning."

"Won't you get into trouble, healing an angel?" Aziraphale asked doubtfully. 

"Really don't care." Carefully swinging his long legs, up onto the bed, Crowley moved to kneel behind him. "It's not like they can hate me anymore than they already do. Anyway, you're worth the risk. You always were."

"Oh." 

"Yeah, well, let's just leave it at that, before it gets embarrassing." He touched the sleeve of Aziraphale's coat. "How do you want me to do it? I'm going to need to see what I'm doing."

Aziraphale had fantasised about Crowley peeling off his clothes layer by layer, driving him wild with the slowness of it, until he was begging for him to hurry up before he embarrassed himself. It really was a very specific fantasy, and it was one that definitely wasn't going to be played out tonight. Lust really didn't feature in his current thoughts. Gratitude, relief, love. Yes, those were all there. Plus a little bit of worry that it would hurt and it would make Crowley feel bad about it. 

"However you think is best. Just don't lose them. I've had those a long time."

With a snap of Crowley's fingers, the shirt, waistcoat and coat Aziraphale been wearing were now neatly folded on a chair in the corner of the room. He was about to ask how ask how bad it looked when he heard Crowley's sharp intake of breath. 

Steeling himself, he glanced round. Not that he could see much, but brief sight of a finger tip shaped bruise, the pale skin turned a virulent deep purple was enough. He swallowed hard. Perhaps looking hadn't been such a good idea after all. "You can do your thing now, if you want to, I mean."

Crowley didn't speak, but his touch was feather light on his skin as he leant in closer, his breath warm and soft as he blew gently across the discoloured skin.

It was a strange feeling, not pleasant precisely, but certainly not painful. It was a little tickly really, he thought, a little shiver running through him. 

"Almost done, you..." Crowley stopped, hands falling away from Aziraphale's shoulders. "Angel, these go all the way down. Your true form. I thought..." He stopped again and pressed a kiss to the back on his neck. "I can't do the rest. I'm sorry."

The kiss made him shiver and he decided that some other time when they weren't both such a mess that he would very much like to do this again. "It doesn't matter, dear, it feels so much better. Thank you." 

Crowley made an annoyed inarticulate sound and held him a little bit closer. "Matters to me. How could he do that? Hurt you."

"It would hardly be much of a punishment if it didn't. A lot of angels rarely go corporeal, so it needs to." Aziraphale replied. Then worrying that he sounded a little too blasé about the whole the thing, added, "It doesn't hurt, it's sort of like a memory of it, that's all. It will fade." 

"Not the point. What he did to you, that was desecration, not you wanting to be loved. He wanted to hurt you, wanted to leave a mark, wanted..." He stopped, gulping back anger and frustration. "He doesn't get to tell you what to do, he doesn't get to lecture you and he doesn't get to hurt you. Never again. Never." 

It was a nice idea, but one Aziraphale couldn't quite bring himself to believe, not yet at least. How could you push aside centuries of reality in just a single moment? Even if it were a very nice, comforting moment. For a short while at least, he told himself, he could indulge the fantasy. 

At some point, although Aziraphale couldn't remember when or how, their embrace on the edge of the bed became one under the covers. More than half asleep he thought to change his trousers for a more comfortable pair of pyjamas. 

Crowley laughed softly in the near dark bedroom. "They're tartan, aren't they?" Then with wave of his hand his own clothes were gone, save for his underwear. 

If they hadn't been before, they were now, Aziraphale decided, just a little smugly, as he settled back against Crowley's chest. 

There was something very comforting about the feel of bare skin against his own, in the strength of the arms holding him close and the slow, soft sound of breathing heading toward sleep. Despite it being the first time that he'd allowed himself such a comfort, it felt unbelievable right. 

Yes, they were decidedly human things. Things that he'd been told angels, and presumably demons too, shouldn't want or need. But, Aziraphale thought, a little giddy with the revelation, they weren't _wrong things_. God had created them as beings of love, not even Gabriel would dare to dispute that. They were meant to be protectors of the weak and comforters of those who were hurting. How could they do those things if they were not allowed receive them when they themselves were in need? 

Yet God had never demanded such selflessness from them, he realised, breath catching in his throat, body trembling at the enormity of it. They had done this to themselves. After the rebellion the fear had been so great, so terrible that they had all tried to be perfect and in doing so they had lost sight of who they were supposed to be. 

Crowley said nothing as he felt Aziraphale shudder in his arms. Instead he slipped his hand into his, fingers threading through, and held on tight. 

By the door a small lamp, its glow soft as distant starlight remained on. There was probably something deeply symbolic about it, Aziraphale thought, something about not losing hope when everything else around you seemed at its bleakest. 

Now wasn't the time for any more thought, deep and meaningful or otherwise. He'd had quite enough revelations for the evening. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale let his breathing match the soft breaths that tickled against his ear, and finally let himself rest. 

TBC 

Note. 

This part totally got away from me, I meant to post it back on Thursday, so sorry for the delay. 

Originally when I planned this story out I'd decided that just having Crowley tell him that Gabriel was twisting the truth would be enough. So the last bit would have been an epilogue, just to tie up loose ends. Having got this far it doesn't feel like that the case, so what would have been the epilogue I have renamed as part 5. So one more part, but now no epilogue. 

Part 5 should be posted in a couple of days time and it definitely will be the last part.


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale woke suddenly. Lying the dark, he groggily looked around, trying to make sense of what had roused him. Crowley was in bed beside him, a sleep limp hand still holding his. The starlight lamp glowed softly in the corner of the room. Perhaps it had been a dream? 

Something tingled on the edges of his senses. Bright, shining and just a little bit miffed. An Archangel then. 

Trying and failing to squash down the feeling of panic that they had found him, Aziraphale slipped from the bed. Hopefully he could tell whoever had come to go away before Crowley realised they were there and things went from bad to worse. 

Wishing he had a little more time to compose himself, he hurried over to the door and opened it. 

Outside, Uriel stood, arms folded, looking less than happy at having been kept waiting in a demon's living room. "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me," she said before Aziraphale had a chance to speak. 

"Sorry, I was asleep you see. So I..." He stopped wilting under her glare. 

The look Uriel gave him was glacial. "Half-naked in a demon's bed."

"I do have a name, you know." 

Aziraphale turned to see Crowley leaning on the door frame beside him. 

Uriel's eyes moved from Aziraphale's pale tartan pyjama trousers to Crowley, taking in the slim fitting black boxer trunks and his sunglasses, his hair tousled from sleep. "Am I disturbing something?"

Crowley gave her a sour look. "Our existence?"

"It's really not what you think." The words tumbled out before Aziraphale could stop them. Excuses and apologies bubbling to the surface, age old fear making his heart pound. "We haven't...we weren't....I mean to say that we..."

"Shh." Crowley put a hand on his arm, grounding him. "You owe them nothing. No apologies."

Blanking Crowley entirely, Uriel held out her hand, beckoning Aziraphale to come with her. "We need to talk. Now and in private. Dress and return to your place of business with me at once."

Sick fear crawled over him. What if it was a trap? What if the other archangels were waiting for him? What if they discorporated him? He'd never get another body, they never allow it. Adam wouldn't be able to help this time, no one would. What would they do to him to get him to abandon his life, to abandon Crowley? Would they make an example of him? Would there be some kind of public punishment to terrify the other angels, to stop them from becoming like him? He tried to take a calming breath, but it stuck in his throat. "No. I...I don't want to." 

Taken aback, Uriel withdrew her hand. "Why must you insist on being so difficult?" 

"I'm not being difficult. Anything you need to say to me, you can say to Crowley. You..." Aziraphale stopped, pressing a hand against his chest. He felt breathless, lightheaded, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Because...well umm...because I'll tell him any way." 

"Very well, if you're going to be like that," she said, sounding less than happy. "I know that Gabriel visited you to discuss certain matters including your role in what is currently going on. There have been a few issues in Heaven with angels-"

The rushing noise in his ears got worse, drowning out what she was saying. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and he staggered, the room spinning wildly away from him. Was he falling? Was this-

An arm wrapped itself about his waist, keeping him on his feet, anchoring him to reality. Crowley's usual sarcasm was shot thought with worry as he spoke close to his ear. "No fainting, I mean it."

Words wouldn't come. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale leant against him and nodded. 

"What is wrong with him?" Uriel asked, sounding suddenly uncertain. "What have you done to him?"

"Me! what have I done?" Crowley snapped back indignantly. "How about you ask Gabriel? 

"I fail to see..."

"Oh well there's a surprise. Look that's your problem, not mine." Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale. "Come on, time to sit down before you fall down." 

Still shaky and a little unsteady on his feet, Aziraphale sank down gratefully onto the sofa as soon as they reached it. Crowley draped thick, soft throw that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago about his shoulders and then sat down next to him. 

Uriel watched them for a moment surprise growing on her face. "You love him."

"We are meant to love," Aziraphale said, pulling the fuzzy, midnight-blue fabric around him. "More than anything that is our purpose. I cannot and will not be sorry for being as She made me."

"Not you." Uriel pointed at Crowley. "That...thing. The demon. How can It do that?" 

"Thing. Demon. It. Well isn't that just charming. It's Crowley. Crow-Ley. Two syllables. Really not that tricky." He gave her an irritated look that somehow managed to be conveyed despite the glasses. "You know the one who helped screw up the whole end of the world thing for you."

"But you shouldn't love him," Uriel persisted. "You can't." 

"Why not? We were all angels once," Crowley said, quieter than usual. "Falling didn't change..." He stopped, genuine raw hurt on his face. "Falling was a punishment and what better punishment for a Fallen Angel than to still feel love, but know they'll never, ever deserve it. Never." He turned away, swallowing down millennia old hurt. "Seriously I thought all you angels knew that. Just something else for you to be smug about." 

It felt like a punch in the gut. Had Crowley thought that about him too? The things he'd said to him...Some of them had been so thoughtless, cruel even. "Oh Crowley, my dear, you should have said something," Aziraphale said, catching his hand in his own. "Of course you're loved. I love you." 

Panic, fear and desperate hope, radiated from him as he looked at their clasped hands. "You....you do?"

"Yes. I don't care who knows it. I won't hide it and I won't deny it, not any more. He deserves better and....and so do I." It was all a bit terrifying really Aziraphale decided, but for Crowley, for a chance of a life together, he could do it, he had to do it because the alternative was unthinkable. Forcing himself to sit a little straighter, to face Uriel properly, he added, "So you can report this back to Gabriel. You tell him I'm in love and I won't....I absolutely, categorically, refuse to renounce it."

Uriel looked deeply uncomfortable, but not he was relieved to see, angry. Just confused and conflicted and maybe a little bit scared. 

"I won't be reporting this to Gabriel," she said, still not knowing quite where to look. "That is part of what I came to tell you. Both he and Michael are on a leave of absence. Questions have been raised and Raguel has decided to move up the internal bi-millennial audit in light of what happened with the Anti-Christ and Armageddon not happening." 

"Oh." There really wasn't a lot else to be said, Aziraphale decided. Raguel, officially the Angel of Justice, and unofficially Mr Bureaucracy, wasn't exactly good news. He was at least fair, impartial and probably had never had a thought that he hadn't cross referenced against at least a dozen different rules before he dared to think it. 

Uriel smiled uneasily. "Indeed. There are concerns that certain things have been mismanaged, that perhaps mistakes have made." 

"The whole cooperating with Hell to try to kill us thing?" Crowley shifted a little closer to Aziraphale. "Or just that you didn't manage to stop us from stopping Armageddon?"

"No. Not entirely at least," Uriel said, watching Aziraphale intently. "You turning your back on your unit, refusing to take up arms, combined with your insistence that we should seek a peaceful solution, is what is being talked about. At length I might add."

"Oh." It really wasn't what he'd been expecting. It was still worrying however, and he was grateful that Crowley was still holding his hand. "What are they saying?"

"That you cast aside your own safety, that you sought to protect Her creations even at the expense of yourself, that you did so without hope or expectation of reward. You couldn't have known that you'd succeed and that you expected punishment for protecting their lives and for seeking a peaceful solution. They are, against all expectations, rather proud of you."

It all sounded so dreadfully noble put like that. Aziraphale shifted nervously on the sofa. He hadn't been trying to be hero or really anything like that at all. He'd been terrified. All he'd wanted was his life to continue in the nice comfortable fashion he'd become accustomed to. One where he could have tea and cake, read a book and spend his time talking about things that didn't really matter all that much. Of course he'd not wanted people to die either. He liked people. People made a lot of his favourite things. They had such imaginations, the food, the drink, the plays and the music. No, Earth wouldn't be any fun without them at all. 

"The point is," Uriel continued. "That no amount of threats from Gabriel can hope to counter it, not in the long term. Of course there are those that remain in agreement with him, but their arguments feel increasingly hollow and despite everything their numbers are dwindling in the face of what has become an open debate."

It was hardly war. It wasn't immortal souls being placed in peril. It was the start of a conversation, an honest discussion that had been a very, very long time coming. Gabriel had lost control and things were changing. It was strange and not a little bit worrying as nobody could hope to know where it would all end. He thought for a moment, weighing up his options. Finally he said, "And what do you think?"

"I don't know." Uriel looked uncertain, "I had been so sure before that what Gabriel had said was true, that stopping Armegedon would be a betrayal of God. Yet She has not sought to punish you. So although I don't understand what is happening I cannot and will not act contrary to Her example. All I can hope is that in time I will be granted the understanding to see her plan more clearly. I am her servant, as we all are, not Gabriel's." 

It was probably the longest conversation that he'd ever had with Uriel, and Aziraphale couldn't imagine having it with any other the other Archangels. Gabriel or Michael admitting that they perhaps they had got it wrong was vanishingly unlikely.   
Oddly, he thought, Sandalphon might change his mind. Not because he thought it was the right thing to do or because someone had presented him with a compelling argument. Simply it would be because he wanted to align himself with whoever was giving the orders at the end of it. He wanted to stay 'Top Dog' as humans put it and he didn't mind what principles he had to drop to stay that way. 

"This is all I came to tell you," Uriel said. Turning to leave. "I think it would be best if you were to refrain from visiting or making contact for a while. Quite a long while. Things are difficult and I don't think your presence would help matters."

"Oh that quite alright, I mean, I had no plans on visiting," Aziraphale said, not quite able to believe that it was over at least in the short term. "I didn't think I'd be welcome."

Uriel nodded. "As for the situation I found here, you dalliances with the d....with Crowley, I will not include that in any report." She sighed. "I cannot understand how you can wish to be with a demon, how you can stand its presence or to be so intimate with it. Yet the love I feel here is not something I can condemn. So I shall leave it at that and think no more on it."

It was hardly a blessing, but it was far more acceptance than Aziraphale ever hoped for from anyone in heaven, let alone an Archangel. "Thank you, I...thank you for coming here to let me know what's happening."

"It's my job." She opened the door to leave. "I wouldn't have come otherwise." 

"Well that went a lot better than expected," Crowley said once Uriel's presence had faded. 

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it." Aziraphale looked at his hands they were still shaking slightly. "I really said all that, didn't I?"

"Needed to be said." Crowley smiled wearily and removed his glasses now that they were alone again. 

The old familiar worry still lurked just under the surface, and Aziraphale watched the door, half expecting Uriel to return. "Do you think it's going to be alright now?" 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, eyes closing before he finally said, "For a while. A long while. Long enough anyway."

"Long enough for what?"

"For us to have a well deserved rest, that's what." Crowley stretched and yawned, his arm finding its way around Aziraphale's shoulders. "Time for bed."

Despite having been in Crowley's bed less than an hour earlier, it still felt rather presumptuous to invite himself back into it. Once, Aziraphale knew, he wouldn't have dared to ask, now the words fell from his lips before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. "Can I join you? I mean that's if you don't mind."

"Mind?" Crowley took his hand. "Angel, you in my bed...well it's something I've wanted for...oh I don't know, a long time, ages. Seriously you could wear the most hideous pyjamas you own, I don't care."

"I don't have any pyjamas, not apart from these." Then as a after thought he added, "And if I did they would not be hideous. They would be comfortable."

"Hardly mutually exclusive though, is it?" Crowley said ushering him back through to the bedroom. "They could be soft as...as you know a soft thing, butter. I bet they'd still be tartan though. Or beige. Beige tartan. Urgh. Beige velour tartan. With a matching night cap."

Aziraphale smiled at him, letting the warm rush of emotion wash of over him. This was familiar ground, the safe good natured teasing that had been so much part of their friendship for centuries. It felt like coming home. 

Slipping under the covers, Aziraphale decided in his newly found boldness that there was no point keeping his distance, and wrapped his arms around him.

Crowley was still for a moment then wriggled into a comfortable position against him. "Warm." He gave a small contented sigh. "You're so much better than a hot water bottle."

A smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips."I should hope so too."

Lying in the dark, warm cocoon of the blankets, Crowley breathing softly against him, relaxed in sleep, Aziraphale felt the lingering tension seep away. This was peace. 

There would be challenges to come, of course there would. They had both been alive too long and had been witness too much to ever think otherwise. They had so many things that they should probably say or do, lifetimes of regrets, of ill chosen words and deeds, that eventually they would have to face. There was no rush for it, they weren't on the clock, not now and quite possibly never again.

They were free. Free to hope, to dream, to love. It really was rather breathtaking, he thought, not to be constantly wondering when it would all come to an end, all crash down around them. 

Warm, safe, loved. With Crowley curled close against his chest, Aziraphale closed his eyes and let sleep come without fear. 

End.

Notes:

Raguel is an angel mainly from Judaic tradition, and is mentioned in the book of Enoch. They are associated with justice and fairness. 

Sorry this last part is so late. It just wouldn't go right at first and then I got caught up in planning for NaNoWriMo- which will be good omens fic, and then getting ambushed by old fandom feels (Highlander: The Series) for a show that last aired more than 20 years ago. 

With any luck the NaNoWriMo fic will be ready for posting Dec/January time.


End file.
